


Lamento Eroico

by TerraCody



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Grief/Mourning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-01
Updated: 2016-04-01
Packaged: 2018-05-30 12:51:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,414
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6424831
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TerraCody/pseuds/TerraCody
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>My retelling of the ending to "All That Remains".</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lamento Eroico

**Author's Note:**

> The Dragon Age series and its characters are the property of BioWare and EA. Once again I’m doing something others have already done—rewriting the end of All that Remains. Yeah, I know Hawke is a total badass but I agree with the general census that the ending lacked a lot of substance. So here’s my retelling of that ending, and how I feel it should have ended. Since FemHawke/Fenris is my OTP for Dragon Age 2, they are the feature couple here.
> 
> I hope you enjoy.

Lamento Eroico

* * *

The house was quiet. Fenris saw Hawke’s Mabari sleeping in front of the fireplace. He could see Gamlen in an adjoining room, and it looked like he was drinking heavily. Fenris wasn’t particularly surprised.

“Here to see Hawke?”

Fenris however _was_ surprised to see Varric approach him. He expected to see the dwarf regard him with condemnation for showing up, but though Varric’s expression was grim, he did not look upset with Fenris. “Would there be any other reason I would be here?” Fenris asked blandly.

“She’s upstairs,” Varric said, gesturing to the staircase. “We just got back.”

“Back from where?”

“Hawke wanted to go and break the news to Junior about…what happened.”

Fenris arched an eyebrow at hearing this. “So Hawke, an apostate, tried to pay a visit to the Templars?”

Varric shrugged stiffly. “It didn’t go well. Junior refused to see her. He even sent down a letter to her.”

“What did the letter say?”

“Probably nothing good. Hawke just read the letter, and then crumbled it up and shoved it in her pocket before announcing we were leaving.”

Fenris’s frown deepened. He never exactly had the highest opinion of Carver. He saw the other man’s inferiority complex to be highly annoying (even if they both shared an unfavorable view of mages), and had barely tolerated him for Hawke’s sake. Hawke, despite her humorous sarcasm (which even got a few laughs out of Fenris on occasion), surprisingly took Carver’s spite and whining with a level of maturity that Carver himself could never hope to achieve.

Knowing the fact that even on this positively grim day—knowing that their mother Leandra had fallen victim to a blood mage—such a tragedy should’ve brought the surviving Hawke siblings together. The fact that it _wasn’t_ increased Fenris’s irritation, and made him want to make a visit of his own to Carver.

“It’s been awfully quiet up there,” Varric said softly, looking towards the stairs. “It has me concerned.”

“Have you gone to check up on her?” Fenris asked him, his increasingly rising irritating giving him a bite to his tone. Hawke had been left alone during this particularly awful time?

“Nah, her door is open,” Varric said dismissively, looking back to Fenris. “Besides, that’s what you’re here for right? To go and comfort her?” he sized Fenris up with a sideways glance. “I mean…that _is_ why you’re here, right Broody?”

It was. Fenris had gone with Hawke to find her mother, and he had stood there and watched while Leandra died in her arms. Leandra hadn’t been his mother, but he nonetheless felt the loss. “Then I’ll go and check up on her,” Fenris said, sighing heavily and heading towards the stairs. His hand touched the banister, but he paused. For a brief moment he saw a vision right on the steps before him. He saw himself fall backwards onto the steps and try to crawl up them, with Hawke on top of him kissing him and pulling at his armor. His body temperature abruptly rose, and he quickly shook his head to shake off the feeling. No…No, he couldn’t remember that. He _wouldn’t_ remember that. He remembered every detail of that night—her scent, the taste of her kiss, how hot and wonderful it felt to be inside her body—but he forced the memories out of his mind. It’d been the most incredible experience of his life, but Fenris knew he had to stop lingering over that memory. He made the conscious decision to end things before they had truly started; to walk away from her and everything she offered to him. He still wore the Hawke family crest she’d given him. He still had the red band she had given him around his right wrist.

But this was the first time he’d come back to her house after their night of passion. He almost felt like an intruder being there, after he had callously walked out on her and denied himself the opportunity to let her in—to just _give in_ to her. Hawke surely didn’t want to see him now…did she?

_But I’m already here, and Varric said I should go up and comfort her. I’m sure if she didn’t want me around then Varric would tell me so._

Still, he felt uneasy as he finally headed upstairs. What exactly was he supposed to say to her to make her feel better? He didn’t know how to comfort anyone. Fenris knew he was just bound to say the wrong thing, and Hawke’s emotions had to be out of control after losing Leandra and then being rejected by Carver. She was bound to lash out at him and scream at him over everything—especially after he rejected her and _especially_ after all the times Fenris had lectured her about blood mages.

_Well…whatever makes her feel better, I suppose._

The door to Hawke’s room was wide open. Fenris hesitated mere inches from the door, and let out a long breath. It was strange…he never felt nervous before a battle, but now his heart was pounding and he was genuinely afraid. He was afraid of saying the wrong thing. He was afraid of Hawke rejecting him after he had rejected her. He was afraid that this would go terribly wrong. But he knew that things couldn’t possibly get _worse_ so he nodded stiffly to himself and finished the trek into Hawke’s room.

Hawke was curled in a fetal position on the left side of the bed. Fenris vaguely remembered when he’d spent the night with her, and how she’d slept on that side of the bed. Again he shook off the memory and came further into the room. “I don’t know what to say, but I’m here.”

Hawke didn’t respond to him. She didn’t even move on the bed. Well, at least she didn’t immediately throw him out. Fenris took that as an encouraging sign and gently closed the bedroom door behind him. He took a moment to remove his sword and prop it against the wall. He looked down at his sharp gloves and took them off as well. He still wore his spiky armor however as he carefully approached the bed. Hawke was facing the edge of the bed, knees curled up towards her chest. Her black strands of hair covered her face and her hand covered the rest, but Fenris could tell that she’d washed off her signature blood swipe. Fenris stood there watching her in silence. Each uncomfortable minute of silence stretched for what seemed like eternity.

Then…it was Hawke who broke it. “What about your mother? Is she still alive?”

The question startled Fenris, as did her soft but calm tone of voice. He took a moment to regain his bearings before answering her. “I don’t know. I have no memory of her.” he gestured to her slightly. “At least you knew your mother.”

Shit—that sounded so cold and neutral. Fenris hissed sharply and looked away. _I’m just making things worse, aren’t I?_

“Am I to blame for not saving her?” Hawke asked him quietly. Fenris looked back at her. She hadn’t moved a hair, her face still hidden. Fenris thought the question was odd. Why would she think the he would know the answer? But his eyes shifted towards her desk on the far side of the room, and he saw the crumbled up ball of paper there. That must have been Carver’s letter to her.

_Is she asking me this because her brother blames her for what happened? Or does she truly believe this is her fault? It **isn’t** her fault, though. She didn’t kill her mother. But is that what she wants to hear?_

“I could say no, but would that help?” Fenris asked, turning to look back at her. He finally breached the distance between them and hesitantly sat beside her on the bed. “You are looking for forgiveness, but I’m not the one who can give it to you.”

Once more the silence stretched between them after he spoke. He sat there and stared at her, lying still on the bed. He knew that he was doing a positively shitty job of comforting her, and he also realized that his blunt way of talking would make it seem like he didn’t care about the anguish she was undoubtedly feeling. But he _did_ care—far more than he could properly convey to her. He just didn’t know what to do to make her feel better. If she could ever _possibly_ feel better again.

After a while he raised a hand and reached for her, but then she spoke again. Her tone had become, sharper, _louder_. “Just say something. _Anything_.”

Fenris’s hand stilled over her hip, and he withdrew it. He stammered uncharacteristically, not knowing what he should say. He was already doing a terrible job of it as it was. He finally settled for the first thing that came to mind. “They say death is only a journey,” he offered lamely. “…Does that help?”

“It just raises questions,” Hawke said feelingly. “Journey to where?!”

Fenris shrugged stiffly. “I don’t know,” he answered honestly. “It’s something people say.”

Hawke didn’t respond to him, which Fenris supposed was a good thing. But he knew it wasn’t entirely good, and so he said, “To be honest, I don’t think there is much point in filling these moments with empty talk.”

Well…that made him feel a bit better about fumbling over his words. But he sincerely doubted Hawke felt any better. Not knowing what else to do, Fenris reached for her again and settled his hand on her hip. After a moment, he stroked her hip in what he hoped was a comforting gesture.

It was then that Hawke finally reacted. She suddenly launched herself into a sitting position, startling Fenris, and he leaned back slightly when she threw her arms around him, not noticing his sharp armor. Fenris had his hands raised, not returning the embrace, when Hawke pressed her face into the crook his neck. He felt the moisture spill into his collar, and a soft, painful moan rumbled from Hawke’s throat. The sound undid Fenris, and he slid his arms around her as she began to cry.

Fenris had seen tears before, but this—the ugly, raw emotions of grief, especially _her_ grief—ripped right through him. He felt and carried her loss as though it were his own mother who had died in _his_ arms just earlier that afternoon. Words were lost on him. All he could do was hang on to Hawke as her body shook and her sobbing increased in volume and hysteria. Soon she was crying so hard that she was nearly screaming, the haunting sound rattling in his ears. She was such a strong person—she faced discrimination and recrimination from everyone (including _him_ ) just for being a mage. She had faced down the Arishok and had _beaten_ a warrior superior to herself and barely faltered. But now—now she there was no possible way she could remain strong. She’d lost her mother in a most horrifying manner—and her brother, her last immediate family member—had undoubtedly rejected her when she tried to reach out to him. After spending so much time being strong for others, she needed someone to be strong for _her_.

But Fenris, he…he didn’t know if he was the right person to be strong for her. Not after what happened between them. But it was clear now that Hawke wanted him to be there, and he couldn’t possibly leave. So held her, rubbing a hand up and down her back while she cried. He pressed his face into her short hair, inhaling slightly, and unconsciously pressing slight kisses onto her head. He even found himself rocking back and forth while he held her, and her grief caused his eyes to sting and he closed them. _I’m here. I’m here._ Those two words were a soft mantra inside his mind, even though he did not say them out loud.

He didn’t know how long they sat there like that, but Hawke’s sobs slowly subsided. Once they finally silenced Fenris became aware that she was sagging against his body. He leaned back to look at her. Her beautiful face was a mess—her nose was swollen, her eyes were swollen, and her face was sticky with tears. But her eyes were closed and she barely stirred in his arms. She had cried herself to sleep.

He looked at her, and raised one hand to cup her face. She did not stir, or react to the caress. A hard lump formed in his throat and he swallowed thickly. Unable to help himself he leaned forward and pressed a kiss to her slackened mouth. Once again the memories of passionately kissing her flared up, and he drew back slightly, feeling the self-loathing all over again. _Why did I leave her? Why didn’t I stay with her?_ He couldn’t stop asking himself those questions, and he didn’t know the answers to them.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured to her. He knew the apology had more than the meaning of condolence, even if Hawke couldn’t hear him. He laid her back down in bed and pulled the covers over her. He wanted to shed his armor and climb under the covers with her and hold her in his arms. But he knew he didn’t have the right to do that, not after he’d denied the possibility of a romance between them.

He left her alone like that, even though his heart felt heavier at doing this. But he stood there lingering for a moment, watching her sleep, before leaving the room and closing the door behind him.

It was later that Varric pressed him for details about what he had said to Hawke. Fenris had a slight inclination as to why; most likely for the book he’d been plotting to write about Hawke. Fenris deliberately remained vaguely about it. “We spoke.”

If Varric wanted the details, then he would need to get them from Hawke. It was _her_ story, after all. Fenris only hoped that within this story of Hawke’s life, despite the way he had hurt her, he hoped that in her darkest hour that he had been able to convey to her that she wasn’t alone.

Even if he had helped to make her feel that way.

* * *

The End


End file.
